Temps du flahute...

Not that much, right? Sure, there's that old Liege-Bastogne-Liege in 1980 that Hinault won in a blizzard... but this year that seems ancient history. In fact, watching the spring classics over the last few weeks take place under almost summer-like weather has been a tease for us stuck in a wet, raw New England April. Yesterday I saw the recon pics from Liege-Bastogne-Liege: Pros mostly riding in shorts and short sleeves while training - it must have been pretty darn warm, usually they're well wrapped up in training.

The last days around here were 40's and 50's F, with flags straight out in a cold wind. Shoe covers, long gloves, thermal cap, the whole nine-yards. Windtunnel. Cold.

But today, well it topped them all. The Quabbin Reservoir road race... 104km of up and down. Quabbin reservoir is one of the largest man-made public water supplies in the United States. Created in the 1930s in the great depression, it was made by flooding over a few towns. The race circumnavigates the reservoir clockwise, finishing on a 3 mile climb into the park on the southern end. It's a favorite road race here in New England - pretty good roads, lots of moderate climbs, all up and down.

Charly Gaul weather today... I had the will, but nothing close to the form.

On the way to the race around 7am, the cold rain started as predicted. As we drove up to the start finish area near the observation tower in the park, the ground was covered with...wait for it... snow!

I was pysched. First race in Flandria Cafe kit, and we get a Monte Bondone 1956 simulation opportunity. It was cold too...low 40's F, and the cold rain was bucketing down. See your breath kind of cold. Charly Gaul was up there somewhere, looking down, smiling.

At registration, I was starting to get revved up. Ready for war! Many of the skinny guys were already whining about the conditions, standing around, shivering. Saying negative stuff. Not me man! I love these kinds of races. I thought about how Charly Gaul used to whistle and sing when the weather was like that to psych out the rest. Worse the better. This was going to be fun.

Biggest decision was tights or no tights. I thought, screw it, I'm a self-declared flahute, and hey I've got a reputation to protect. So it was lots of BORN hot embrocation and enough grease to swim the channel, and going with bare legs. Neoprene shoe covers multiple layers, plastic under the jersey. Winter gloves and skull cap. And stay in the warm car w/teammates Dr. Brad and the Goose, until the last minute.

There were ~116 or so 45+ guys registered, but there were only about 55 who took the start. It was cold, the final 5 minute count-down was a shiver fest, a theme that continued on the controlled 5k downhill to the official start. It was really freezing. By the bottom of the hill the hands were soaked, numb, as was the body. It was hard to brake. Only about 3 hours to go.

The battle started soon enough. The strong guys from CCB and Keltic starting drilling it on the hills going north along the west side of the reservoir. After the big, definitive surge, there was a big selection... I was hanging at the back of that group, in the pain cave, doing everything to stay in contact, but suffering.

Suddenly, World TT masters champion, and ex-teammate Dima Buben comes riding by me laughing and pointing at my legs. "What is your skin made of anyway??" It was pretty funny, but I wasn't laughing, I was on the ropes. Dima certaintly wasn't, he just rode up toward the front. Morale blow. Great rider though, Dima. Good guy too.

A few miles later, I had a bit of a collision trying to ride out of the saddle with numb hands and oxygen deprived senses. For a sec, I was sure I was going down. Saved it, but went off in the gutter. Like a total Fred. Now 50 meters back, which might as well have been 50 miles on that false flat. Moment of truth again. Sprint. Oh-oh...I'm not coming back. Try again. Harder. Nothing. A rider catches me. I can't hang with him. Battery empty. Dropped, doodmoe.

Never give up, right? Chased hard with a group of 3 others. Overdid it trying to come back. Finally, they gapped me on a long climb to New Salem. Bad legs. Prayers to Saint Charly Gaul for intervention go unanswered. No Angel of the Mountains today. Nothing to do but grind on.

On the other side of the road, I passed a long, continuous line of guys who were riding back to the start, after saying 'no mas'. Over my dead body. I just kept going as hard as I could. At one point, I passed a whole flock of guys off their bikes, likely from earlier races. Some were getting into warm cars. My hands were numb. It was hard to shift, and I couldn't even squeeze a bottle to get a drink... in fact, I only drank about 1/4 bottle in 100k. Mistake I know, but I didn't want to stop to drink.

As I was fumbling with the damn bottle and took the gloves off. Couldn't get them back on, and the Cat 4 pack went by. Nightmare. Once the gloves were back, I chased hard. Closed down to the following cars. Leapfrogged up to the last one. 100 m to go. Hit a climb, lost more. For 10 miles or so I chased with that damn group in sight. Never got them.

I did however, claw my way back to the trio that had dropped me earlier. We rode the finale together. I did too much work, in too big a gear, going too slow. By the time I hit the final climb I was just in survival groveling mode. But I finished. 32nd. Over 30 minutes down on the winner. Lousy result, disappointing after all the training.

My teammates Brad and Eric both finished too a few minutes later. Brad's derailleur cable pulled out, and he needed to do the final climbs in his 12. Eric wasn't happy, but he had little miles in this year, so I think his ride was super all considered. So 100% of the Flandria Cafe team finished. Not well, but finished. I guess that counts for something on a day like this when only 35 survived to cross the line.

You can't wear this jersey and not finish, we figured.

Get link

Facebook

Twitter

Pinterest

Email

Other Apps

Comments

I'm not sure you ever mentioned in your post - but how many times are you riding a week? The trick is to be on the bike everyday - mileage is not important (to a degree). Doing a 12 mile tt for three days in a row (and thirty minutes of your time) is better than taking three days off for instance due to time constraints.

Fast Eddy...I love your attitude! I have lived in coastal southern California for the last 30 years and if temps goes below 50, everyone complains of how cold it is to ride. Your Flandria team is the real deal!

Hey Ted... riding 5-6 days a week, and lots is short & super hard. Maybe too much intensity?

RE: covering sponsor, agree, but that's where they make you put the numbers now. (Funny story: In fact last year at this same race some official made Brad and I move our numbers up on the back it last minute on the line- I'd had it on the pockets like back in our day!!)

1st Point - You should be on the bike 7 days a week. Five to six days does not work if your mileage is not over 250/wk.

I found it best to do two training rides per day. If you need to go to work for 8AM then go out at 6AM for a 20 mile ride and when you get home do the same - this gives you 40 miles of training per day. If you can do this 5 days a week - it is ideal - if not try to do it twice a week. Then when not racing on the weekends do long training rides to get your distance in (again this could be 50 mi in the morning and 50 in the evening).

2nd point - and most important - need to take your pulse everyday. Take when first awake and still laying in bed (take for 15 sec and multiple by 4). Stand up slowly and take again and multiple by 4. The difference varies with each person but should be around 8 beats/min.

If you establish that to be your average - then any spike in that - say rather than 8 it goes to 16 - you need to do an easy 42X18 spinning ride (both in the morning and evening) until your body recovers (this could take a day or two). Again your pulse will show you when it is ok to go hard again.

Classic way that everyone overtrains - you feel good to go hard but your body is trying to recover - if you do not take your pulse this way you will never know!!!

Eddy,My hat off to you for riding Quabbin at all and in that weather even more so. That was the only race in my pathetic racing history I finished in the car. At the time I was on 7 days/week training regiment and went into it way too tired...from training.

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Read with some amusement the other day that article about the advent of the $10,000+ road bike. 'Halo bikes' they call them.

Halo Bikes. Hallelujah, let the pigeons loose.

Ten to twelve grand for a race bike? Utterly ridiculous. On oh, so many levels.

It got me shaking my thick-mick head, and thinking longingly back to the good ol' days. The mid '70's, when road racing bicycles were all hand brazed, lugged steel tubing. Your wheel choice? Pick 28, 32 or 36 spokes. Grouppo? Either Campagnolo Nuovo Record, Super Record or maybe Shimano DuraAce. There were a lot of bicycle company 'brands' (e.g. frame designers, brazers and assemblers), but the basic ingredients were all about the same really. Funny thing was, guys still rode 30 mph on them, no problem. In fact, I think they could handle them a heckuva lot better in a peloton too.

And the best stuff, and by that I mean the bikes and technologies used by top professionals - even by win…

Welcome to the Wielercafe! This blog is the new home of my old blog, 'Flandria Cafe'.

After riding Race the Ras in Ireland back in 2014, my professional and personal life went into warp drive, leaving little time for blogging. Master's racing had to be shelved. The idea of commentary on pro cycling felt like another disconnected, inadequately informed voice weighing in. Figured I'd rather spend my spare time riding. Frankly, I ran out of things to say and just lost interest, so I took a break for awhile. Long enough for the Flandria Cafe registration to expire and someone else to snag it (!)

Since 2014, I've been flattered to have many friends and blog followers reach out and tell me they missed the blog - particularly the old-school cycling history stuff, for which my passion is still alive. In addition, some personal life changes, and some great cycling adventures with many friends who share our cycling passion have rekindled m…

Okay, so it's Thursday night, and we're all in a crowded hotel bar in Clonakilty. And I mean all of us. The real Ras is in the same hotel tonight.

There's a quite mighty craic. Alan bumps into Emma O'Reilly and gets caught up after many years, a world away from Boulder, Colorado. Paul chats with former Irish Olympian Seamus Downey, his wife, and their friends. Seamus tonight is the proud father of An Post rider Sean Downey, who's kicking ass and taking names in the Ras this year as the top Irish rider, sitting 6th on GC. They're reminiscing with anecdotes and memories of Paul's late dad J.J. Lots of the Race the Ras guys are here too, all having a great time. I'm sitting with Aaron and Brian McCormack, and we're enjoying that ever-so-perilous 'just one I promise' after dinner pint.

Slouching at stools at a high bar table next to us is a group of skinny, tan, clean cut and identically
tracksuited 20-somethings. Not a Guinness in s…

I started bicycle racing New England roads way back in 1976 when shorts were wool, helmets leather and $250 could snag that white Peugeot PX10 that was all you needed to jump in the pack with the best.
A half-decent sprint brought modest amateur success, earned me the nickname “Fast Eddy” and fueled an indelible cycling obsession - launching a lifetime in roles orbiting in and around cycling.
Top category amateur racer, founding member of New England’s most prestigious cycling club, product marketing manager for global cycling brands, European bike-biz veteran, creator and owner of one the coolest road-bike shops ever, occasional drinking partner of professional cycling champions.
At age 57 in my spare time I’m still an avid cyclosportive and cycling travel adventurer, and not mellowing with age.
A passionate cycling fan, I've collected just enough experiences to be dangerous. Warning for the politically correct: My world view on cycling and life is unapolgetically old-school, euro-centric, opinionated, and as hard-hitting Boston-Irish as a Dropkick Murphy’s soundtrack.